


Fireplace Prompt - A Fluffy Castiel Drabble

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:52:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9417350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Fluffy drabble based on the item/object prompt: Fireplace





	

“There,” you pointed out into the night between blinding flashes of lightning, “boarded windows, it must be abandoned.” The storm raged, and shelter had seemed a dim possibility on the little travelled back roads of the Kansas countryside. You breathed a sigh of relief.

Castiel’s dark blue eyes followed your gesture, pulling the lumbering Continental up an overgrown gravel driveway, getting as near to the porch as the long neglected shrubbery would allow. His eyes flitted over the gas gauge, silently acknowledging whatever miracle had gotten you this far on fumes alone.

You dashed from the car, miserably failing to dodge any of the deluge of heavy raindrops with a flimsy newspaper as protection. Tossing the soggy mess aside, you tried the door. With a bit of firm encouragement in the form of your right shoulder, it sighed open, stale air rushing out into the wet night. Yep, definitely abandoned. And probably sometime in the 1920s judging by the amount of dust thickly touching every surface, horizontal and vertical, and seemingly defying gravity as it hung in the air itself.

Cas appeared at your side, placing a cautionary arm across the threshold, “Wait here, I’ll look around.”

You rolled your eyes even though deep-down you loved his overprotectiveness. However, lately it had reached epic proportions. You made a mental note to talk to him about that when you made it back home. Leaning against the doorway, you vigorously rubbed your arms for warmth as the darkness of the house swallowed the angel. A burst of wind swirled around the sturdy wood frame, effortlessly carrying a large branch from a nearby tree and dropping it with a sickening crunch between the tiny porch and the car. “Done waiting,” you gasped anxiously, ducking into the house, flattening both palms against the door to force it shut again. You didn’t hear Cas’ quiet footsteps over the clattering of your own teeth.

Cas draped his trench coat over your shoulders, spinning you around and folding it taunt about your body, “It appears to be safe.”

“G-g-g-good,” you chattered, laying your head on the angel’s chest, “can we w-w-work on making it warm?”

He wrapped his arms tightly around you, planting a kiss on the crown of your rain slick head, still holding you snug as he turned to lead you deeper into the old structure. “Here, sit,” steady hands guided you to a wooden chair. He turned to face a mantle, or at least that’s what you thought you saw in the nearly pitch black room. His fingers reached out for a small jar, angelic sight unhindered by mere darkness. Opening the top, it smelled of fresh sulfur - matches saved from the ravages of time within the safety of the glass. He picked up a chair, sending in splintering to the floor, gathering the broken pieces and stacking them in the fireplace. Moving to a window, he yanked down the curtain, tearing the faded cotton into strips to use as kindling. The match strike brightly illuminated the room for an instant, fading to the dim orange glow of the burning cloth. Cas blew gently across the flame, willing it to grow with his breath. The first small pieces of wood succumbed to the heat, crackling loudly, and the angel stepped back with a satisfied hum, wiping his hands across his pants. He turned now, crouching in front of you, strong hands rubbing your legs creating frictional warmth, features lined with concern, “I’ll get you dry clothes from the car.”

Teeth clenched, you numbly nodded as he squeezed your shoulder and stepped away. Remembering with alarm the fallen tree branch your body went rigid, and you twisted around in the chair shouting, “Be careful, the tree…” The howl of wind blowing through the hallway informed you that he was already outside. You gazed steadily at the doorway, anxiously waiting for the angel to return. The hungry snap and crack of the fire and a burst of radiant heat attracted your attention. Winding back around in the chair, your eyes discovered the fire had climbed beyond the hearth, gnawing at mantel, peeking through the piece meal plaster holes in the wall, chewing at the dry wooden structure of the home. In panic you kicked your heels, clambering backward and flipping the chair. Scrambling to your feet, you made for the front door, running head on into the angel. “Fire!” Was all you could muster, the cold no longer a concern of any priority.

Cas squinted at you in bewilderment - of course there was a fire, he’d lit it himself. Throat seizing in worry, he thought perhaps you were colder than he’d realized. Hypothermic even. A palm pressed to your forehead found you were not in immediate danger, in fact, you were warm, veins coursing with adrenaline. His focus shifted to the angry light lapping from the door through which you’d just blundered and he suddenly understood. He’d set the house itself on fire.

“Let’s go back to the car,” you tugged urgently at his sleeve, “back to the road.”

“The tree,” he grasped your wrist, stopping you from moving, shaking his head sadly, “it fell. The car is no longer an option.”

Thunder shook the house, or perhaps the house was collapsing, you couldn’t tell for sure.

“There is a stable in back,” Cas scooped you up, carrying you out into the rain, jogging through the muddy remnants of the yard. Fortunately, the stable was dry, and upwind of the blazing farmhouse. You stood side by side in the large doorway, arms wound around one another, heat touching your faces, watching the home burn - the fire hissing and sputtering angrily at the rain as it devoured the dry timber.

Glancing up at your angel, you found a small smile tracing his lips and laughter dancing in his blue eyes. You couldn’t help but reflexively mirror his joy in your own features, “What’s so amusing?”

He peered into your eyes, smile widening, “I’m thinking of Mary and Joseph trying to get home for the birth of their son and taking shelter in a stable. I find the cliché of our current situation to be pleasing. There are some differences, of course. For one, they didn’t burn a house down. And also, their mode of transportation was not crushed by a tree.”

You quirked an eyebrow curiously, “Cas, what are you talking about?”

Cas’ hand drifted to your belly, “Don’t worry, we have plenty of time to get home. Two hundred and fifty-seven days to be exact.”

Your eyes flew wide, gazing questioningly between the angel’s hand on your belly and his shining blue eyes, “I’m…we’re?”

“With child,” he beamed.


End file.
